The Millionaire

by Victoria Purman

  And then Ellie took a step back from him, shaking her head adamantly. “Oh no, wait a minute. If you think anyone’s going to bid for that photo at the charity auction…”

  Chris placed the frame back on the mantle. “If you want to raise some big bucks, let me photograph someone the RFDS has helped. I could do a shoot with someone who’s alive and well today because of their work.”

  Ellie was staring up at him, her soft lips parted on a sigh.

  “What do you think?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think…” She stopped and wiped her eyes. “I think your idea sounds incredible.”

  Chris rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Good.” And a feeling of lightness settled within Chris, something that he might have mistaken for happiness if he remembered what that felt like. “What’s our turnaround time? When’s the auction?”

  Ellie shrugged his hand away. “In three and a half weeks.”

  Chris shot a wink at her. “Easy. I’ve worked with way tighter deadlines than that, believe me. Now, can you get me in touch with some people who’ve been patients?”

  Ellie laughed, her eyes shining. “Can I find you a patient? Abso-bloody-lutely I can,” she half-laughed, half-cried. “You can start with Grandpa Trev. He wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for the flying doctors.”

  And then Chris understood the tears and why this charity ball was so important to Ellie. She wasn’t only funny and beautiful and dogged and snippy. Ellie Flannery was all heart, too.

  “When can we get out there to photograph him?”

  Ellie’s eyes widened. “You want to go to Gilgandra? It’s six hours by car.”

  “Hell, yeah. You think I can shoot him over the phone? We need to get where the action is.” He grinned and Ellie’s smile returned as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Action? You won’t find much out there. Unless you like sheep or counting the stars at night.”

  “I like stars.” It had been a long time since he’d looked up into the darkened Australian sky and seen the Southern Cross, the five star constellation that signalled he was home. That anchored him to who he was and his history.

  “We could fly to Dubbo and then drive the rest of the way. It’s forty-five minutes from the airport to my grandparents.”

  “Done,” Chris said.

  “But… there’s a problem.” Ellie played with her earring again and Chris had a major urge to tease his fingers through her hair and stroke her ear.

  “I have to work the rest of the week. At the paper. I couldn’t go until Saturday.”

  “Okay. Saturday it is.”

  “Great,” Ellie repeated. And then she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “I suppose you want me to get the word out, then. Make sure the whole world knows you’re not actually the mean bastard everyone thinks you are?”

  When her gaze dropped to his mouth and then returned to his eyes in a slow trawl, Chris had to clench his fists to stop from reaching out and kissing the tease out of that voice. And then he totally forgot where he was and what she’d just said. “People can think what they like about me. They always have.”

  “But isn’t that why you’re doing this? To salvage your reputation? Protect the family name and all that? Nothing will do that better than donating to a good cause.”

  Sure, that screwed up sense of family obligation had been on his mind when he’d left his brother’s office and driven to Ellie’s house.

  Now, he was thinking about something else entirely. He didn’t answer, just grinned at her.

  “I’ll organise the flights and the rental car and talk to Grandpa and let you know what time we need to meet at the airport on Saturday morning.”

  Chris straightened his shoulders and propped his hands on his hips. “I’m picking you up.”

  “I do know how to get to the airport, Chris. I’m a big girl.”

  She was damn wrong about that. She was all woman. “I can see that. But I’m still picking you up.”

  “Okay.”

  For a moment, they smiled at each other.

  “Thank you again, Chris,” Ellie finally said. “This is going to be… well, I’m sure my colleagues will be thrilled about it. Really.”

  Chris walked towards the front door and stopped. “Anything I should know about your grandfather?”

  Ellie beamed. “Grandpa Trev calls a spade a bloody shovel.”

  “Now I know where you got it from.” He laughed again at her open-mouthed indignation. “See you Saturday.”

  Six

  ‡

  First thing the next morning, Ellie hopped off the bus after her short commute and walked the two blocks to the offices of the Western Gazette. She pushed through the front door with a renewed sense of purpose. She felt like she had the scoop of the century, and scoops, unlike secrets, were screaming out to be shared with your news editor. The news editor who’d been so cranky she’d delivered a stern lecture to Ellie about the need to develop a nose for the news and the imperative to always put the newspaper first.

  Ellie had to admit her loyalties were divided these days. She’d been a journalist for more than a decade and her career was starting to lose its lustre. Although she loved playing with words, some parts of the job were becoming tougher. Times were hard in the news game and some of the stories she really wanted to get up weren’t cutting it anymore. Celebrity news – like Sydney rich boy and international photographer Chris Malone’s supposed engagement to a European princess – got a better position in the paper and online than her serious pieces about cuts to local health services. Ellie knew she had to play along if she wanted to keep her job; that she had to adapt to the changing environment in which she worked. But that didn’t mean it was easy.

  After her news editor’s rant at her over the phone about missing the Chris Malone story, Ellie knew this angle would get her out of the bad books with her boss and make her job safe for a little while longer, which her landlord, in particular, would be very pleased about. A girl had to eat, after all. But in the back of her mind, an idea was brewing, every day a little stronger, that maybe she needed to mix things up. Find a new direction, perhaps.

  “Kerry!” she called across the newsroom.

  A head popped out of the kitchen. Her news editor wore her black hair cropped short which highlighted her suspicious eyes and her bright red power suit.

  “What’ve you got, Flannery?”

  “I’ve got a story for you.”

  “Music to my ears What is it?”

  “This is an even bigger yarn than the one I missed about Chris Malone. You know, about him being engaged to that European princess, whose name I can never remember.”

  “Yeah?” Her news editor pricked up her ears.

  “I found out last night that Malone is donating his time to take a one of a kind, rare, exclusive photograph for the Royal Flying Doctor’s annual charity ball. It’s going to be auctioned off and will raise thousands and thousands of dollars.”

  “That’s the one you’re helping out with, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. All in my own time, if you remember.”

  Kerry regarded Ellie with a smirk. “Did you have something to do with him donating that photo?”

  “Yes, in a roundabout way.” Ellie knew it had all been Chris’s idea but she didn’t want to look like a total loser in front of her boss. And she figured she’d had a role in it because she’d mentioned what her grandfather had gone through. Maybe she could take forty percent of the credit.

  “Okay, I’ll give that a run. Everyone in Australia loves the Flying Doctor.”

  “Yes, they certainly do.”

  “Did you get a quote from the man of the moment?”

  Oh shit. Ellie hadn’t even pulled out her phone last night to record anything. She’d been way too annoyed at him. And then way too distracted.

  “I’ll ring him and get one.”

  “Tom,” Kerry ca
lled out across the floor to one their colleagues who continued to type furiously as he lifted himself from his chair. “Find a shot of Chris Malone shirtless, will you? Flannery’s apparently got a yarn.”

  Ellie didn’t need that image in her head. The first time she’d seen him shirtless, emerging out of the water at One Mile Beach like Daniel Craig in a Bond movie, he’d been half-naked and she’d totally lost her cool. She needed to be professional, calm, nonplussed.

  “Shirtless?” she spluttered. “He’s a serious, international photojournalist, Kerry, not an underwear model.”

  “Ellie, we want people to click on the story when we post it online. Malone with no shirt will hit the top of our most visited list. And seeing how quickly the other story went viral, I’ve got high hopes for this one. All those people clicking on to our website.” She winked at Ellie, who smiled back at her knowingly.

  Ellie had to agree. He was totally click-worthy.

  Kerry sipped her black coffee. “Since when does Malone do happy snaps, anyway? Last I heard he was in North Korea.”

  “North Korea?”

  “Or was it Mexico with the drug cartels?” Kerry waved a hand.

  “Anyway, go get those quotes and we’ll get this online.”

  *

  Fortunately, Chris had texted Ellie earlier that morning, so she had his number. His message had simply said,

  Looking forward to working with you.

  Looking forward to driving her crazy, more like.

  Turning up on her doorstep the way he had, bargaining with her over the donation of his time. She still wasn’t sure why she had to be part of the bargain, but now, he was part of her redemption in the eyes of her boss, and she had to get her act together and get the story up.

  As she walked over to her desk, she pulled out her phone and pressed his number. The newsroom all around her was buzzing: phones were ringing, the clickety-click of keyboards was interspersed with animated conversations and good-natured arguments and someone else was complaining loudly and dramatically that the biscuit tin was empty. By the time she’d dropped her rucksack on the pile of papers and switched on her computer, he’d picked up the call.

  Ellie had to press her phone hard to her ear to hear him down the line.

  “Good morning.” That voice was rough and slow, the sexiest morning voice she’d ever heard. Perhaps he’d just woken up. And her mind flew ahead of her. Maybe he was still in bed, lying on some white, high thread count cotton sheets, propped up on a nest of pillows with one arm bent at the elbow and his head resting in his hand. Maybe the muscles would be bulging as his arm flexed and perhaps the sheet covering him would be hastily arranged low on his stomach so there was a hint of …

  And what the hell would his bed hair look like?

  Ellie swallowed and tried to concentrate on her job instead of her fantasy.

  “Good morning, Mr. Malone. It’s Ellie Flannery from the Western Gazette.”

  She bit back from asking the question on the tip of her tongue: what are you wearing?

  There was a low chuckle and the sound of it went straight to each and every nerve ending in her body. “Mr. Malone is my father or my brother. And why are you introducing yourself?”

  Ellie swore she could hear the rustle of sheets.

  “Because I—”

  “I think we’re already on first name terms… Ellie.” He said her name slowly, deliberately, on a deep sigh.

  She ignored it. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I could, about your donation to the charity ball we were discussing yesterday.”

  “On the record, you mean?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for a couple of quotes for the story I’m writing about your generous offer.” Ellie looked around the newsroom and was met with uncharacteristic silence. Everyone else had stopped what they were doing and were leaning back in their chairs to listen to her conversation. She cursed the management consultants who thought open plan offices and hot-desking were such great ideas. Not only was it embarrassing enough to have to be calling Malone, but every single one of her colleagues was witness to her nervous questions. “Would you be available now for a quick chat? It won’t take more than a couple of minutes, I promise.”

  “There are some things I only do in the flesh, Ellie.”

  She pushed her fingers through her hair and fiddled with her earring, the one that wasn’t being crushed into her skull by the pressure she was using on her phone.

  “I really am on deadline, Mr. Malone. Just a few questions.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”

  Not another one? Was anything about dealing with Chris Malone going to be easy? She already knew the answer to that question and it was a big fat no.

  “You’re quite the negotiator, Mr. Malone.”

  “There’s a coffee shop across the road from your office. If you want the interview, I’ll meet you there in ten.”

  “How do you know—” The line went silent. Of course he knew where she worked.

  “Fine,” she announced to the overly attentive audience all around her. “I’ll see you there. Thanks, Mr. Malone. I appreciate your time.”

  Ellie ignored their stares, tucked her phone in to the pocket of her trousers, and crossed the road.

  As she stepped on to the footpath, she dialled her best friend, Bron.

  “Hey, Ellie.”

  “Listen. I can’t talk. I’m about to interview Chris Malone. He came to my place last night and I managed to get him to donate a photo shoot for the charity ball. And now I’m getting some quotes for the story I have to write in about three minutes.” Ellie’s heart pounded and she felt a little breathless as she dodged the traffic and weaved around a parked car to reach the footpath on the other side.

  “What the what?” Bron asked down the line. “He was at your house? Last night? And you wait until now to call me? You’d better tell me everything, Ellie.”

  “I will. Apparently he saw the story that got picked up from your original Facebook post and wanted to put things right. Oh, I’m here. Gotta go.”

  “Ellie!” Bron demanded, but Ellie ended the call, took in a deep breath, and walked into the cafe.

  *

  Chris backed into a park on the busy suburban street. He locked his car and, as he walked to the coffee shop, he looked around him and had to remind himself how regular and normal this was.

  And how irregular and damn crazy he’d let his life become over the past decade. To be able to walk around freely, without the dubious protection of a press pass or a bulletproof vest, was something he would never again take for granted. The shops and small businesses he passed were filled with customers and stock. None of them were boarded up, and people were happily going about their business without fear of being car-bombed or kidnapped. He tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled. Sometimes it was the little things about being home that hit him square in the solar plexus.

  He was home.

  And when he was back in Sydney, he left his camera uncharged and in its bag. It was a relief not to have to look at the world through a frame. He could let the colourful, normal, happy humanity of his hometown wash over him and envelop him.

  He walked past a florist and then doubled back. There were a dozen black buckets overflowing with blooms of every shade and hue, from the palest pinks to deep reds and oranges. He didn’t second-guess the reason why he walked inside, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a note in exchange for a bunch of white roses.

  Chris was on his way to meet a woman and damn it, he could take her flowers if he wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made such a gesture. Paris, maybe, a couple of years before, because that was what the city of lovers did to people, even when they were planning nothing more than one night with a foreign correspondent from New York, who was as wild as her home town.

  He held the roses to his nose and sniffed their perfume. He couldn’t wait to see Ellie’s reaction when he handed them to her. Which game would sh
e bring to their encounter today? Would it be the wide-eyed adoration or the sassy woman? He wasn’t sure which he liked more. Sure, he was a professional and he liked that she admired his reputation and his work.

  But when he went to bed at night, he was a man. And his very male ego got a huge kick out of her sass, sparring with her, the way she bit back and teased him, too. It had been a long time since he’d let himself play like that. And the part of him that was all man wanted, no needed, to see those legs again. Not to mention that mouth.

  Yeah, all that was the reason for the flowers.

  When he reached the coffee shop, he hid the flowers behind his back and walked inside.

  Ellie was sitting at a table for two, right in the front window, swiping the face of her phone determinedly. Despite the heat, she was wearing a long sleeved shirt, buttoned up to the neck. It looked like silk, something shiny and soft.

  “Hello.”

  Ellie looked up and dropped her phone on the table.

  He tried not to grin but was so happy to see her he couldn’t hold it in. “These are for you.” He held out the bunch. It was so huge that his gesture momentarily blocked his view of her. When he lowered the blooms, he was met with a suspicious expression instead of the smile he’d been hoping for after.

  “Flowers,” she said with a frown.

  “You’re not a reporter for nothing, are you? Very observant.”

  “This isn’t a date, Mr. Malone. This is an interview.”

  “I thought I should thank you for the dinner and the wine last night. If that’s all right with you.”

  “Thank you,” she managed with a tight smile.

  Chris pulled up a chair and sat. “Coffee?”

  Ellie checked her watch. “I don’t have time, unfortunately. You of all people know what deadlines are like.”

  “I understand.”

  “And my editor wants this now. She thinks you’re a good story.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

  Ellie looked him right in the eyes, determined suddenly. “Depends on what you tell me.”